


To Have, to Hold

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Don't Read This, Established Relationship, Grizzop is there too but like. y'know. he says exactly 0 things so uhhhh, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, im gonna write nothing but angst for a MONTH to balance myself out from how sweet this is, it's just. its cotton candy in fic form. so fluffy.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 05:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: pitchblackkoi:Would it kill you to write one established relationship fic so they can HOLD HANDS and KNOW THEY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHERroswyrm:yesroswyrm:i would die





	To Have, to Hold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pitchblackkoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitchblackkoi/gifts).



> haHA 'TWAS A CLEVER ROUSE!!!!! happy very belated birthday!!!!!!! i AM definitely dead though, so like. it's my ghost posting this. also, this was beta'd by the lovely blacksatinpointeshoes and then further read by the wonderful aslee and they're both!! delights!!!!!!! enjoy 2k words of heart-melting, tooth-rotting, blood-sugar-increasing fluff. Working Title: _my grave is on ur hands jaime_

It’s a good ring, for what it’s worth: plain gold with a simple etching of what could be flames or could be waves, depending on which you were trying to see. Hamid clearly put a lot of thought into it. Zolf isn’t supposed to have it, but he’ll give it back to Ishaak before the ceremony starts. 

“Can’t believe I have to be security,” Sasha mumbles into the mirror. She’s trying to fit all thirty-eight of her daggers into her suit. Zolf isn’t going to stop her, but he’s also getting a bit impatient.

He tries to reason, “You don’t have to be security. Half the people here have saved the world, and the other half have saved it twice. No one’s going to try anything!” Sasha pays him exactly zero mind, wriggling her favourite ice dagger into her waistcoat. (She always gets huffy when he says that, something about her real favourite betraying her. Zolf has refrained from asking.) Zolf stands up, pulls on the sleeves of his suit. Of his _white_ suit. Not the stupidest decision he’s made, but it’s certainly up there. “Sasha, if I’m late to my own wedding because of you—” Sasha slips the knife in and begins working on another— “and your stupid knives, Hamid’s going to have a fit.” Sasha frowns at him in the mirror.

“You can calm him down,” she retorts matter-of-factly, and Zolf is sincerely regretting asking her to be his best man.  
\---  
Hamid meant to wait. Hamid meant to wait until he and Zolf were alone, or at the very least until he actually had the ring on him, but he’s already on his knees. So, scorched, surrounded by the rest of the party, and kneeling in a puddle of his own blood, Hamid suggests, “Marry me?” Zolf blinks at him for half a second before laughing. It catches the attention of Sasha and Grizzop, but Azu continues searching for clues as to the next underground cell of Hades Cultists. Hamid readjusts his footing, keeps hold of Zolf’s hand. “No, really.” And maybe the tears in his eyes are from the pain, or maybe they’re from something like terrified joy, but they’re undeniably there. “Zolf Smith, will you be my husband?”

Zolf forces his smile down, grips Hamid by the shoulder as he hauls him into a kiss. _“Yes,_ you idiot,” he says, and it sounds more exasperated than it does fond, but Hamid knows his boyfri– his _fiancé,_ and Hamid’s half-dead but this is the most full of life he’s ever felt, “now stand up so I can heal you.”  
\---  
Zolf knows that he shouldn’t let go of Hamid’s hands, but he does anyway. Hamid stammers in the middle of his vows as Zolf brushes away his happy tears. There’s a beat of silence, and then Hamid adds, “Also, you’re used to me crying, which is nice.” Hamid’s family laughs quietly, and Azu sniffles slightly louder than she’s already been sniffling.

Zolf doesn’t look at them; he just smiles at the love of his life and wonders how he got so lucky.  
\---  
Hamid places his hand over Azu’s and asks, “Would you like to be my maid of honour?” Azu turns to look at him, and when Hamid smiles up at her, she beams back.

“I would love to,” she says, and there are tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She laughs and pulls Hamid into a tight hug, which Hamid readily returns. “Oh, Hamid,” she says, sounding overcome with happiness, “I can’t believe you’re getting married!”

Hamid sniffs away the tears in his own eyes. “Me neither,” he confesses, and he holds onto Azu for a long time.  
\---  
Ishaak and Ismail argued for a long time about who should be the ring bearer. Ishaak was born a minute and a half before his brother, but after the planar-shifting nonsense (even if only the people who were planar-shifted remember that) Ismail was clinging to the version of events where he was a year and a half older. Technically, he’s still a week and a half older, but that’s so little difference no one pays attention to it except for the twins.

Ishaak gives Hamid one ring, and Ismail gives Zolf the other, a quote-unquote elegant solution thought up by Saira, who took it upon herself to be the wedding planner. Well. Co-planner. Azu helped with the non-accounting bits, Grizzop and Vesseek haggled with the catering people and Sasha… Sasha made herself scarce. 

Zolf doesn’t try to see her right now, too focused on not messing up his marriage ceremony to play _Where’s Waldo_ with his best man. To be fair, it’s very likely that no one else can see her, either. Probably hiding behind a flower arrangement or something.

“I do,” says Hamid, the biggest smile on his face, and Zolf has to work very hard not to start crying himself. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

Fairhands begins, “And do you—”

“Yes,” says Zolf, “yes, I do.”

Fairhands, for his part, isn’t too passive aggressive about the interruption. It’s probably helped by the fact that Azu blows her nose so loudly that anything else is hard to focus on.

(Sasha _is_ in fact behind him, and Zolf knows this because he can hear her wiping her face on her sleeve. He’s still not sure how she was convinced to wear such a rustly suit.)  
\---  
“Sasha,” Hamid groans, _“please.”_ Sasha continues to keep the dressing room door closed. Azu, her purchase (a smart pink jumpsuit with as many ruffles as possible while still being functional) safely wrapped in a paper bag, stays seated where she is. Grizzop, who bought the first thing that was even remotely close to his size (a grey dress with white celestial bodies sewn onto it that was initially designed for a Gnome) to make Hamid leave him alone, gives him a toothy grin.

Sasha, who is the worst person to shop with, refuses to let Hamid see her outfit. “The groom doesn't get to see you in _your_ suit until the wedding, so neither of you is gonna get to see me in _mine!”_ Grizzop continues to grin, looking ever more pleased that Sasha’s being a pain.

Azu chimes in softly, “I don’t think that’s how that works, Sasha.”

“It does now!”

Hamid runs a hand through his hair. “If no one can see you, I don't know if the suit fits the theme! A-and what if you need it tailored?” Sasha makes a vaguely disgusted noise. There’s a rip from inside the changing stall. “Sasha, did you just tear it?” Hamid asks, incredibly distressed.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Sasha mumbles, “Nnnnnnnnnnno?”

Hamid buries his head in his hands.  
\---  
Zolf reaches for the knife, but there’s nothing there. A noticeable empty space on the table where it should be. “Sasha, for God’s sake.” Sasha, grumbling, slips the knife out from her sleeve and hands it to Zolf so he can cut his damn wedding cake. _“Thank_ you,” he says, ignoring his family-in-law’s laughter. He knows they’re laughing with him, not at him, and that has no reason to make him smile so widely.  
\---  
Hamid sighs. Zolf continues running his hands through his hair. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Hamid says, “I’m just… tired. And a bit stressed.” Zolf hums. His hands stop for a moment, and Hamid makes a slightly impatient noise, tilting his head into Zolf’s touch. Zolf huffs a laugh, but he resumes carding his fingers through Hamid’s hair, so Hamid decides he doesn’t care too much.

After a moment, Zolf suggests, “Maybe you’d be less stressed if you let someone else help with the wedding planning.” Hamid wrinkles his nose. He squints his eyes open, looking up at Zolf. 

Zolf seems genuine. Hamid, sounding outright offended at the suggestion, says, “Absolutely not.” Zolf rolls his eyes. He withdraws his hands from Hamid’s hair, which Hamid immediately protests. Zolf laughs again, taking Hamid’s hand in his own and squeezing. 

Hamid protests slightly quieter.  
\---  
White suits, to absolutely no one’s surprise, are very easy to muck up. “Oh, for– Goddamnit.” Hamid glances over at him, and his face twists when he notices the large champagne-coloured splotch on Zolf’s jacket. He reaches out and smooths the lapels down, readjusts Zolf’s tie, and Zolf can feel Prestidigitation doing away with the stain. Zolf gives him a grateful look. Hamid smiles back, taking his hand. “Thanks,” Zolf mutters.

Hamid presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “Any time,” he answers softly, and Zolf is going to suffer so much teasing about this later. He can’t bring himself to care.  
\---  
“You know you don’t have to get everything perfect, right?” Hamid blinks up. Zolf’s sat next to him on the sofa, reading something (not Campbell, too many bad associations there) while Hamid looks over the venue suggestions from Saira.

Hamid cocks his head. “I know, but I want it to be nice.” Sure, he’d _like_ perfect, but his younger self’s dream wedding is definitely something Zolf would balk at, and to be honest, Hamid doesn’t know if that’s even what he wants for himself anymore, either. He’s certainly not going to be wearing a dress the way Little Hamid had planned.

Zolf shrugs the way he does when he’s trying to pretend something doesn’t bother him. “I just don’t know why you need to make it—” he gestures at the pictures Hamid is examining, using his other hand to keep his place— “all this. Seems like tempting something bad to happen.” Hamid understands a healthy amount of superstition, but he’s not going to let it keep him from having something that’s going to make him happy.

He reaches over and squeezes Zolf’s hand. “Not everything has to be bad luck, Zolf. You’re allowed to have good things.”

Zolf takes his hand back and snaps, “You’re all the good things I need!” Hamid clicks his tongue admonishingly even as a smile spreads across his face. Zolf waves a dismissive hand. “You can just get whatever’s cheapest; I _do not_ care about anything fancy.” 

Hamid kisses him before Zolf can stop him. “That’s a very angry tone of voice for saying that marrying me is the only thing you need,” Hamid informs him. Zolf glares. Hamid kisses him again, just a quick peck, before compromising, “I’ll talk to Saira about getting something less flashy.” As Hamid begins stacking up the photos neatly, Zolf grumbles some affirmation before angrily sticking his nose back into his book. 

Hamid politely refrains from pointing out that he’s blushing.  
\---  
Sasha pulls him aside during the reception, while Hamid and the twins are talking. “Zolf,” she says seriously, “you need to divorce him. Right now.”

Zolf raises an eyebrow. “Because?” Sasha glances over her shoulder to make sure that Hamid is well and truly distracted (Ismail has a little flame dancing across his fingers) before leaning in closer.

 _“He’s got even more names now,”_ she hisses. Zolf stares at her blankly. She huffs something exasperated under her breath before slowly saying, “Hamid Selah Haround _Smith_ al-Tahan. That’s too many names. I mean, really, you only need one. And a nickname, so a half, so one and a half! One and a half, and you’ve let him have _five._ Fix it.” Hamid makes a noise of long-suffering anguish, and Zolf looks to see Azu chucking a panicked glass of ice-water at Ismail and his on-fire hand.

Ishaak does some spell that he really shouldn’t know (the ice-water evaporates midair, filling the Specifically Non-Denominational church with steam) before he squeaks and frantically pats out his sleeve. Hamid turns to look at Zolf and Sasha pleadingly. _“Help,”_ he mouths.

Zolf shakes his head and tells Sasha, “Smith al-Tahan only counts as one name.” Sasha groans in protest, but Zolf doesn’t pay her any mind. He’s too busy trying to get over to his husband (to rescue him from his brothers and also probably from himself) without stepping on anyone’s toes.  
\---  
Hamid waits. He set up dinner so that Zolf would meet him here, and he knew that Zolf would be late, (Zolf makes a point of being on time, usually, but the Navigator has no such compunctions) but Hamid’s been sitting here alone for the past half hour. He’s already gotten started eating, of course; Zolf knows him better than to care about etiquette like that. “I’m sorry, sir, this restaurant is reservations only,” says the hostess. Ah, there he is.

Hamid makes to get out of his seat so he can clear things up, but Zolf says, “I _have_ a reservation,” in _such a tone_ that Hamid wonders if maybe the Navigator wasn’t at all understanding of his going-to-be-married-by-a-priest-of-Aphrodite.

The hostess makes a politely sceptical noise. “Apologies,” she says very insincerely, “of course. What’s your name, sir?” Hamid doesn’t like her tone at all, thank you.

He’s about to go and _tell her this,_ (probably with liberal use of his family name and also of the word _fiancé)_ when Zolf answers, “Zolf Smith al-Tahan. The reservation’s under my husband’s name, though?” Hamid nearly chokes on air. He’s used that politely condescending tone when he’s gotten the better of someone, but hearing Zolf use it is– something. Hamid’s too stunned to think of the word.

“Oh! Um, of course, sir, I-I didn’t—”

“Yeah, I noticed. Can I be taken to my seat now?” Hamid takes a long drink of his wine and pretends very hard he hasn’t been listening. He only looks up from his food when he hears the hostess’s heels clicking on the floor. Zolf smiles at him. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the booth opposite Hamid.

Hamid smiles back. He says, “It’s perfectly alright, dear,” if only to see the hostess look silently ashamed of herself. She takes Zolf’s drink order before slinking off. Hamid looks at his fiancé across the table. “The wedding’s tomorrow, you know,” he teases.

Zolf shrugs. “Yeah, _I_ do, but _she_ doesn’t. Also, _you’re_ the one who’s been going around introducing yourself with my name thrown in with the rest of yours. You don’t hoard treasure like most dragons; you hoard names.” Hamid rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

He takes a bite of his appetiser. “I don’t need any more treasure; I’ve got you.” Zolf stares at him a moment before opening his menu and inspecting it without responding. Hamid laughs. “So when _you_ say romantic things like that—”

“Shut up,” Zolf says, pointedly not looking Hamid in the face. Hamid continues giggling, but he doesn’t say anything more as he reaches across the table and squeezes Zolf’s hand.  
\---  
In the kitchen of Hamid’s– of _their_ apartment, Hamid taps him on the shoulder. “You promised me a dance.” Zolf turns around to see his husband holding out a hand.

Zolf raises an eyebrow. “Don’t remember doing that,” he says. 

He still takes Hamid’s hand, settling the other on his shoulder. “You said you didn’t want to dance in front of everyone,” Hamid reminds him, “so we’re dancing now.” Zolf doesn’t say that he meant he didn’t want to dance at all, because Hamid leaning his head on Zolf’s chest isn’t the kind of thing Zolf is going to say no to.

There’s no music, just the sound of Hamid’s socks sliding on the tiles (who wears socks in their own home?) and Zolf’s legs sloshing a bit as they sway. It’s every stupid romantic cliché Zolf could ever think of, slow dancing in the kitchen at midnight with his husband in their pyjamas. It’s ridiculous. “I love you,” Zolf murmurs, eyes closed, face pressed into Hamid’s hair.

Hamid laughs, and the hand on Zolf’s waist turns into a one-armed hug. “Love you too,” Hamid whispers, and it’s the kind of stupid, stereotypical romantic drivel that would make Zolf turn his nose up if it were in a book.

He finds he doesn’t really mind it in real life.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway look forward to nothing but angst for the next six years of my life. i'm on tumblr @roswyrm hmu send me prompts and expect to get ur heart broken


End file.
